


Till the Chime of Twelve Bells

by mrs_captain_rogers



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Cinderella AU, Dancing, Fluff, M/M, Prince charming Wylan, balls, cinderella jesper, does this make Kaz the fairy godmother?, fairy tale AU, wylan has no interest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-04-07 16:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19088557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_captain_rogers/pseuds/mrs_captain_rogers
Summary: Jan Van Eck throws a ball for his son to meet eligable young ladies... Wylan on the other hand is interesting is something else all together.





	1. Dancing with a stranger

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of a Wylan/Jesper Cinderella au came to me one night at work and the image was just soooo cute I couldn't pass it up. Hope y'all like it.

Wylan sighed dramatically, his hand holding up his chin where he leaned against the balcony rail. Below servants bustled about like a hive of frantic bees, placing flowers, hanging banners, and adjusting furniture. His father had been adamant that every last detail had to be just right for that evening’s ball. The ginger headed boy sighed again before straightening with a long slow stretch.

“Master Van Eck there you are,” the house steward’s voice echoed through the hall after Wylan. “The taylor is awaiting you in your chambers for some last minute fitting adjustments for your suit.” A groan, or perhaps a muttered swear, slipped from the boy’s lips as he looked at the wiry, elderly man hurrying toward him. The comparison of the steward to one of his cousin’s pet ferrets made Wylan snort. “Young Master, did you hear me? The tailor is waiting, come along now.” WIth a roll of his blue eyes the boy followed albeit begrudgingly. 

The ball to be held that evening at the Van Eck country estate was in celebration of Wylan’s 17th birthday as well as an opportunity for him to begin his search for a bride. Although he was young Wylan’s father insisted he speak to all the eligible women to “get things moving” as Van Eck senior had put it. Wylan had no interest in attending the ball, much less speaking to the hordes of women who would no doubt be throwing themselves at him. He didn’t want to get married, not yet at least, and certainly not for money or standing. The ruddy haired boy had always dreamed of marrying, as he imagined his mother had, for love. 

A sharp prick on his thigh pulled Wylan back from his daydreams as the tailor quickly apologized for sticking him. The merchling waved it off before glancing at himself in the wide mirror before them. The dark suit, his ruddy curls slicked back with far more product than strictly necessary in Wylan’s opinion, the whole get up made him look like his father. At the tailor’s request, he slipped behind the dressing screen and swapped out his formal suit for his own clothes.

The sun sat heavy on the horizon like a fat golden toad as Wylan gazed out his bedroom window. The tailor hummed softly as he placed the last few stitches in the young man’s new suit. “The young ladies won’t be able to take their eyes off you sir,” he said shaking out the jacket. “You’ll have the pick of the lot.” A sigh slipped from the boy as he accepted the coat. 

_“Must it just be ladies?”_

The receiving line stretching out before the merchling seemed to go on forever, perhaps even past the bounds of Kerch. Wylan’s cheeks ached from the smile that he’d plastered on hour ago. Music filled the air around them as one young lady after another was introduced, nothing more than a blur of colorful silks, overpowering perfumes, and annoying giggles despite Wylan not having said anything remotely close to funny. After another hour of introductions he was released to mingle and dance. Despite his love for playing music the boy had never much been one for dancing and after having his foot stepped on for the third time he quietly escaped to the cool relief of the balcony. To his surprise there was already someone there.

“Oh pardon me, i’ll just…” The person, a young man with rich dark skin and eyes the color of a storm, turned around catching Wylan’s gaze and driving the breath from his lung. “I didn’t know there was someone out here. Please pardon the intrusion.” 

A wide grin split the other boy’s features and once again those storm grey eyes held Wylan’s own. “By all means, there’s plenty of room for both of us out here,” he replied gesturing to the empty expanse of the balcony. “Enjoying the party?” 

A snort, partly in laughter and partly in frustration, escaped the merchling before he could stop himself. “Let’s see obnoxious socialites, ladies dresses wider than the Lid crammed into a relatively small space, getting my toes stepped on repeatedly, oh and having to endure all of this completely sober… Yeah I’m having a blast.” The sarcasm practically dripped off his words. He wasn’t normally this frank with strangers but there was something about this boy that Wylan couldn’t help but like. 

“Point taken but there’s plenty of room out here with me.” The pair fell into easy conversation, settling on a stone bench by the balcony rail and as the night wore on Wylan found he couldn’t stop smiling. After what seemed like no time at all, a clock began to ring eleven bells and half chime. “I hadn’t realized how late it was.” 

“Still time for a dance?” Wylan’s voice wobbled slightly as he spoke, praying to every god, saint, and otherworldly power he could think of that he had been reading the other boy’s signs correctly all night. 

“I suppose there’s time for one dance.” His long nimble fingers intertwined with Wylan’s before pulling him to his feet. A small smile spread across the ginger boy’s lips as he felt the warmth of his partner envelope him with his long limbs. They danced together to the soft music drifting from the ballroom, both secretly wishing the night would never end. Wylan breathed deep smelling gunsmoke and the harbor on his mysterious companion. The song ended and just as another was beginning the clock began to ring twelve bells. 

“I have to go.” His dance partner quickly pulled away from Wylan, panic filling his stormy eyes. 

“What? Why? It’s only twelve bells, you don’t have to go yet. Please…”

“I can’t explain it but tonight has been the best night of my life.” He leaned down quickly, his lips brushing against Wylan’s for just a moment before he dashed back through the door and into the ballroom. Without hesitation the merchling gave chase, calling after him. 

“Wait, please wait. How will I find you again? I don’t even know your name.” For just the briefest of moments, the Zemeni boy paused on the grand staircase looking back at Wylan before hurrying on, stumbling for a moment, then righting himself before hurrying out the door and into the starry night. Wylan huffed a defeated sigh as he slowly continued down the stairs, nearly stumbling on something laying on the step. At his feet lay a gleaming, pearl handled, Zemeni revolver, the kind that usually came in pairs.


	2. The Prince's Search

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wylan and Jesper both awake the night after the ball wondering if it was all just a wonderful dream. To their delight, it wasn't but now the search is on for our Merchling to find the owner of the revolver left on the steps at the chime of twelve bells.
> 
> A second half of my Jesper/Wylan Cinderella AU.

Soft morning light filtered through the cracked attic window falling gently on Jesper’s face as he snored quietly. The peaceful scene was shattered as the narrow door to his room slammed open, shaking the walls. A sharp voice cut through the quiet as cold water splashed across him making Jesper jerk away. “What is your damn problem you ingrate?” he snapped, his hand reaching under his pillow for his revolver. 

“My problem is Per Haskell’s breakfast isn’t made yet and I sure as hell ain't going to make it for him. Now get your scrawny ass out of that bed and go make it.” Jesper grit his teeth and slowly dragged himself out of the bed. 

“Get out of my room asshole.” Without another word, the thug left him be. Jesper grabbed his clothes and quickly got dressed. As he tugged on his pants a small pale flower fell from his pocket bringing a smile to his lips. “It wasn’t a dream after all.” Jesper froze mid crouch to retrieve the flower as a thought struck him. “It wasn’t a dream… my gun!” The lanky gunman continued to mutter under his breath as he went downstairs to make the old man’s breakfast.

****************************************************************************************

The soft morning light filtered in through an open window as Wylan van Eck snored quietly in his large four-poster bed. A gentle knock sounded at the door, followed by a pause and then a second, harder knock, which eventually roused him from sleep. “Young master Van Eck, it is time to get up. Your father is waiting for you to join him for breakfast. Wylan groaned and rolled over, his back to the door, and tried to go back to sleep. He wanted nothing more than to slip back into the blissful dream he’d been having about a dark-skinned stranger with eyes like the sea during a storm and who smelled of gunpowder. “Young master I really must insist you get up and make yourself presentable for breakfast. Your father grows impatient.” A slight tremor of fear laced the last sentence. 

“Fine, I’m getting up,” he grumbled, rolling back to his other side. Before he could pull himself from the bed Wylan felt his fingers brush against something smooth and cold hidden in the nest of pillows. Jerking back the pillows his eyes fell upon a single pearl-handled revolver. “It wasn’t a dream?” he muttered as he gazed down at the gun. “He wasn’t a dream.” There was another knock. “I said I’m getting up. Tell my father I’ll be down in a moment.” The ginger boy’s tone was sharp as a blade. A few minutes later he joined his father and step-mother in the dining room for breakfast. 

“There’s the man of the hour, about time. Have a little too much to drink last night?” Jan Van Eck greeted his son. “Come sit and let us talk about your thoughts from last night.” Van Eck senior continued to chatter about this Mercher’s daughter and that dignitary’s niece. Wylan answered each of his father’s questions unenthusiastically, barely touching his breakfast as the meal progressed. After what felt like an eternity the young man was released to his lessons. He was out the door like a bat out of hell, he had some important inquires for his tutor. 

It had been 2 days since the ball and all of Ketterdam was abuzz with gossip. The son of a Merchant Council member was searching the whole city for a young lady who had been at the ball. The reasons for his search were as wild and harebrained as the stories about the search itself. Jesper sat in his tiny attic room polishing his remaining revolver, heartsick over the loss of its mate. The flower from the party lay on the bedside table slowly wilting. The thought of pressing and drying the small reminder of that joyous night had crossed his mind several times but he sadly had no books of his own in which to do so. Outside the open window, rain fell quietly on the greying, neglected buildings that surrounded the Slat. The Zemini youth finished polishing his revolver before returning it to its hiding place under his pillow. 

Below on the canal, the sound of voices drifted up to the open window as a young man with ruddy hair and two much larger men exited a small boat onto the dock. Ignoring the noise Jesper returned to the small patch job he’d been attempting on his spare pair of trousers. Downstairs there was a knock at the Slat door. 

“What do you want?” a voice, thick as canal sludge, bellowed at Wylan where he stood on the stoop. He simply cleared his throat, adjusted his tie, and wiped away the fleck of spittle that had landed on his cheek before responding. 

“I’d like an audience with the head of this… household.” The large brute on the threshold chuckled loudly before looking at a young woman with short-cropped blonde hair. 

"This little merch punk wants to talk to the boss.” She rolled her brown eyes and pushed him away. 

"What’s this about?” she demanded.

“I’m simply following up on some information. Now may I see him or not? I have a very full day and would like to get on my way if your employer is not available.” Her eyebrows danced a bit, uncertain of this young man, but after only a moment’s hesitation, she opened the door wider. 

“Follow me.” 

 

Per Haskell looked up from behind a large oak desk when Annica entered, followed by a strange red-haired boy dressed in mercher black. “What do you want? I have better things to do than being trifled by the likes of children.” Once again that eye roll made a quick appearance. Wylan quietly thanked the young woman before stepping closer to the desk. 

“I expect you are the one who runs the show around here.” The old man stared at this impertinent wisp of a boy. 

“Perhaps I am, what business?”

“I’ve come in search of some information. One of the guests at my family’s ball the other night dropped something of high value and I wish to see it returned to them. Lucky for me it is an engraved Zemini revolver, a type of weapon that always comes in pairs. I have reason to believe the owner of these guns resides here. I only ask to see the twin before I can release this back to my guest.” Wylan reached into his jacket and withdrew a small cloth bundle. Pulling aside the fabric he placed the pearl-handled gun on the desk between them. The old man let out a low whistle. 

“That is quite the piece you’ve got there. What makes you think it belongs to someone here?” 

“I’d prefer not to divulge my information source if that’s quite alright. I have my ways of acquiring information just the same as you. Now does the owner of these revolvers live here or not?” Haskell sat back, his leather chair creaking under the weight of him, a rather feline grin spreading across his face. 

“As a matter of fact, they do, seeing as the weapons in question belong to yours truly.” Wylan didn’t believe this one any further than he could throw him but his sources hadn’t failed him before and they’d found out the handsome Zemini boy who’d lost the revolve lived here. Par Haskell reached for the weapon but it was quickly snatched up by the young man. 

“I’ll only turn it over once I’ve confirmed you have the twin revolver and not a moment sooner. If this really is yours, that shouldn’t be a problem.” The grumpy old man got to his feet, grumbling the whole way out there, and soon began the climb up to the attic where Jesper awaited unaware.

The sharpshooter jumped as his bedroom door slammed open, revealing Par Haskell. “You ungrateful little shit.” The old man’s watery eyes burned with fury as he stared down the boy on the bed. “You snuck out! Even after I deliberately told you not to leave the Slat without my permission, you still snuck out. It makes me wonder how many other times this has happened.” Jesper stared back at him blankly, slowly rising from the bed. “Where’s the gun?” His volume had dropped but the tone was still sharp and demanding. 

“What gun? I don’t have a gun anymore remember? You had your thugs take all my weapons.” 

“You always were a terrible liar Jesper. Now I will ask one more time and you had better give me the truth. “Where is the damned gun?” Jesper’s eyes flashed to the bed for the briefest of seconds but it was enough. Haskell rushed the boy, hitting him hard in the gut with the head of cane, sending Jesper wheeling into the washstand against the far wall. The chipped pitcher teetered slightly before falling to the floor, shattering. 

“Please, you can’t! Those were my mother’s revolvers. I’ve already lost one, I can’t lose the other. They were all I have left of her.”  
Before Jesper could say more or get to his feet Par Haskell had the gun in hand and was at the door. “I feed you, clothe you, put a roof over your miserable head, and this is how you repay me you, little ingrate? You’re lucky the only punishment you’re getting is a beating.” With that, the door closed with a bang and a resounding click of the lock from the outside.

Downstairs in the gang leader’s office, Wylan waited impatiently. When the old man hadn’t returned right away he sensed something was amiss but decided to wait. The rain had picked up outside, drowning out the sound of Haskell coming down the many stairs. “Here you have it, the twin to my beautiful revolver. Now if you’ll give me my gun, you can be on your way.” 

The ginger boy reached for the outstretched weapon to inspect it as the twin to the one left on the manor steps. Sure enough, it had the same pearl inlay handles and the same faint engraving of jurda blossoms. Wylan’s chest fell as he stared at the gun, sure he had seen both of them in the beautiful boy’s hands. “You’re certain these belong to you?” His voice was small, no sign of the demanding mercher presence he’d presented before. 

“Yes they’re mine, now get out.” Par Haskell snarled from behind his desk. 

Upstairs Jesper beat against the wooden door begging someone on the outside for help. He knew he had to retrieve his mother’s revolvers from the old man or he would never see them again, no doubt in his mind that they would be pawned. As he opened his mouth to shout once again for help, the distinct clink of tumblers turning in the lock got his attention. A moment later the door swung open, nearly hitting Jesper in the process. A tall, lanky, pale boy with a shock of dark hair and a walking stick stood in the now open doorway. 

“Don’t make me regret this Jesper, you owe me, big time. Now go!” Kaz stepped out of the way as the sharpshooter rocketed like a lightning bolt through the open door and down the stairs. 

“Wait, wait please don’t go,” he called as he rounded the last flight of stairs. “Please wait.” Wylan spun on his heels at the sound of the voice. “They aren’t his guns. I can prove it.” The ginger boy stepped closer as Jesper came into view. 

“It’s you…” The two boys stared at each other for a moment. Wylan looked exhausted after searching for days for Jesper. The other was slightly worse for wear, several small cuts littered his hands and arms from the broken wash pitcher and soot stained his clothes from cleaning the kitchen hearth early that morning. He even had a black smudge of soot across his nose. 

“I know I’m probably not what you expected huh?” Wylan smiled at his handsome mystery boy as he closed the distance between them. Wylan rose up on his toes and kissed Jesper gently, his hand cupping his warm cheek. 

“I know all about not meeting expectations.”


End file.
